


Sovereign

by MrsSeverusSnape



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 08:32:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2766530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsSeverusSnape/pseuds/MrsSeverusSnape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merle Dixon is an arrogant, ignorant redneck. Helena Cartwright could think of nothing worse than to be stuck with him during the zombie apocalypse, but when their paths collide she realises that they need eachother more than either of them had ever dreamed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sovereign

Atlanta had been wiped out. Every run, every scavenge into abandoned shops turned into an empty, futile disappointment. Without the stimulus of people running screaming through the streets the dead fell fatigued, aimlessly wondering until the next stray dog appeared. Which it always did.

"Fuckit." Came the grunt from within a convenience store nestled into one of the side streets of the sprawling city. Dust had begun to settle on the shop front, making the sign illegible and the windows murky and dull. From inside another curse came flying, as well as the sound of rattling cans. "Goddamnit. God fucking damnit!" A woman hissed, picking up one of the empty cans and launching it across the store. This was the fifth store she had checked that morning, and is was another resounding failure. Scavengers hadn't left a single can and she was slowly starving.

Helena slumped to her knees, head in her hands. The intense hunger made her ache to her very core, and the lack of human contact was making her feel as if she was slowly losing her mind. Long, greasy hair hung around her shoulders, dust settling in the dark ebony strands before she tugged it up into a messy ponytail. The combat trousers, heavy army boots and ripped khaki tank top were beginning to smell and itch against her skin and she shrugged on her jacket, trying to ignore her discomfort as she composed herself and dragged herself to her feet. 

The young woman shook her head, trying to clear it of thoughts that she had been trying to keep at bay since the 'shit hit the fan' as she would say. It was supposed to be a two week trip across the United States, but when the borders were closed she realised she was never going to get home to Britain. Soon hordes of the undead began to fill the streets and she accepted she couldn't go back. This was it. Survive or end up like the hundreds of men, women and children she had seen be taken by this apocalypse. Those were her only options.

The door of the convenience store creaked ceaselessly as she slipped out into the sun lit street. Luckily, it seemed that she was alone for now and, hoisting her rucksack onto her back, she scurried down the street, heading for base. The small apartment building she had set herself up in was quite a trek away as she had been forced to head further away in search of supplies. Keeping to the shadows, Helena hurried against the walls of the surrounding buildings, hand clasped tightly around the axe she had managed to scavenge from the firetruck left abandoned on a nearby street, all occupants laying sprawled dead on the street.

She approached a corrugated metal fence and began to pull herself to the top, almost throwing herself over when a cold hand wrapped around her ankle and refused to let go. Helena kicked out, having dropped her bag to the other side of the fence and the axe with it. The walker did nothing and attempted to drag her leg closer to its jaw, teeth gnashing in anticipation of her flesh. Finally she landed a kick under its chin, throwing it from her leg and causing her to fall from the fence, landing harshly on the axe that lay abandoned in the alleyway beyond. Wincing, she touched a hand to her stinging thigh and felt it come back slick and sticky with blood. She whimpered and choked as she pulled the corner of the blade from her leg and felt the sudden flow of crimson.

Helena needed to get inside if she was to have any hope of preventing infection. Grabbing her rucksack and the blood addled axe she shuffled forwards on her knees, using the enclosing wall to drag herself to her feet as she heard the walker that almost got her scratch at the fence. Hobbling forwards, she felt her way along the wall and headed for the door that now seemed miles away from her. Beads of sweat smattered across her brow as the blood loss, pain and exertion combined made her weak and tired. She knew it would not be long before she lost consciousness and scrabbled at the door, forcing herself inside and trying to shut it securely behind her. The zombie was making headway, the fence began to buckle under its weight and Helena knew it was just a matter of time before it gave way. 

She let out a cry of anguish, dragging herself up the stairs and finding that with each step a fire raged in her leg and a blood trail smeared behind her. There was still another two flights of stairs to go, and she could hear the fence giving way and the sound of another walker joining the first one that had tried to bite her. 

"Fuckit!" She hissed, trying to ignore the burning, throbbing sensation of the deep penetrating wound as she rounded the corner and the door of her apartment came into view. The two walkers were now joined by a third and had reached the door leading inside. Helena hadn't shut it properly and they had already begun to force it open, echoing growls and snarls reaching her a few stories higher. She fumbled with the key, letting out a whimper as she barged through, hitting her leg on the way and feeling her strength drop even more.

She slammed the door behind her, bolting it shut and using her shoulder to force the nearby cabinet against the frame in an attempt to make it more secure. At last she could stop to take a breath, hissing as the full extent of her injuries began to appear as the adrenaline began to subside. The walkers were struggling to stumble up the stairs and she knew that it wouldn't be long until they were ceaselessly scratching at the door, baying for her blood. 

Allowing herself to take a breath, Helena dropped her bag to the floor and placed the axe on the cabinet, admiring the blood now thickening on the surface of the worn blade. She felt weak, the loss of blood making her skin sallow and damp with sweat and the pain causing her knees to buckle. She wanted nothing more than to sink to the floor and sleep for days, but she knew she must keep moving if she was going to survive. The minimal supplies she had left behind would be in the bedroom, including the wad of bandages and antiseptic cream she managed to steal from a nearby pharmacy. 

Helena heard footsteps behind her and her eyes widened, glowing brown orbs filling with tears as she reached for her axe once more. That was, until she felt a heavy weight make contact with the back of her head and the dribble of blood snake around her neck. And then, suddenly, everything went black and she sank to the floor. 

When she came round, the pain in her leg was unbearable but what was worse was the throbbing head wound, making her skull ache and almost causing her to vomit as waves of nausea washed over her. She was just aware of the slamming of draws and the sound of objects hitting the wall above her head but her eyes were swimming with tears and she could barely see a thing. Helena groaned, trying to reach out for her axe which was just visible about a metre in front of her. She stretched her arm out, trying to ignore the dull ache in her head and thigh and concentrating on keeping her minimal breakfast down.

Just as her fingers stroked the handle of the axe she felt pressure on her forearm and looked up to see an older man standing before her, foot pressed onto her arm. He tutted, kicking the axe away and dropping down onto his haunches to survey the girl on the floor before him.  
"I don't think so, sugar." He drawled, clutching an arm to his chest. Blood stained his filthy white vest and smattered across his face, and it wasn't until her vision cleared that Helena could see that it was not an arm he was cradling but a bloodied stump. The man smirked as Helena tried to reach her rucksack and pulled her back to where she had been laying without an ounce of care. "Don't look so upset, darlin, Merle ain't gonna hurt you." He took the rucksack from the floor and stood up, rifling through her belongings and throwing those he didn't need onto the floor. Helena scowled, pulling herself to her knees and stroking the hilt of the knife hidden inside her boot. Merle obviously saw, pushing her backwards and taking the knife from her shaking hands as he grinned. 

She accepted defeat, slumping against the wall and watching the stranger as he rifled through the remaining cupboards, clutching his arm to his chest and cursing loudly when a can rolled out and hit the mangled stump. 

"You need to see to that." Helena mused nonchalantly, watching Merle raise his eyebrows and turn to her with a smirk.

"Well well, what do we have here? Sorry to bother you, princess." He grinned, making a mockery of her accent. "What's a lady like you doin in a shithole like this?" Helena ignored him, used to hearing the taunts about the way she spoke ever since she set foot in the country. 

"That'll get infected." She responded, unperturbed as she gestured to the bundle of cloth wrapped around his wrist. "I have some antiseptic cream, you need to-"

"We'll that's mighty kind o you to care, princess." He interrupted. "But I can take care o myself, and I sure as hell don't need no fancy ass duchess tellin me what to do." Helena rolled her eyes and forced herself to her feet, hand clutched to her wounded thigh as she assessed the damage.

"Whatever. If you're not going to use it, I will." She hobbled over to the kitchen table where Merle had piled all of the supplies he had scavenged from her hideout. Snatching the knife from the top of the pile she tugged at the fabric of her trousers, using the knife to cut and tear one leg away mid-thigh, gaining access to the wound. 

"I don' think so, princess-" Merle lunged for her but the knife was at his throat before he could even take a step. It was in this moment that Helena could study his face. The sharp sunburn causing his skin to peel, and the rough, course stubble littering his chin and cheeks. His piercing blue eyes creased at the edges with amusement as he lifted his one remaining arm in surrender. "You're a feisty one, ain't ya?" His grin infuriated her as she tried to survey the damage to her thigh. A long, deep cut spanned from her upper thigh to just above the back of her knee. She began to slather the cream across the cut, biting her lip to stop herself from crying out as it began to sting like a hundred angry bees. 

Not having seen another living, breathing person in so long, Helena didn't want to send Merle away. She reached out her hand, offering the tube of antiseptic in the hopes he would accept. Instead, he spat at the ground and knocked it from her hand. 

"I don't need none of tha' shit." He growled, leaning back against the countertop. The younger girl rolled her eyes and grabbed a roll of bandages, trying to wrap them tightly around the wound without whimpering but the pain was too intense. Merle seemed satisfied with the sound, sniggering as she ripped the rest of the trouser leg and used it to wrap over the top of the bandage. 

"If you won't let me help you, can you at least tell me how that happened?" She asked tentatively, cutting the other leg of her trousers to even them up. Not that it did anything to improve her dishevelled appearance. 

"Ya could at least buy me a drink first, sugar." Merle growled, turning his back on her and continuing to ransack the shelves.

"Don't call me that." Helena responded with an equally as aggressive tone, causing Merle to laugh callously. Finding nothing of value, the older man hoisted a bag onto the table beside her and began to fill it with everything he had scavenged, including all of her remaining food supplies.

"Wha was that, sugartits?" He asked as she snatched a can from his grasp. "Aw come on, don't be like that. We can share." Merle smirked once more, rifling through the bag with his one working arm and pulling out a can of peaches. "C'mon, you need me princess." Balancing the can on the table he peeled open the top and lifted it to the lips, eating half of the peaches in one go as juice dribbled down his chin. In another disgusting gulp he had finished the can and discarded it on the floor. He had eaten more in the last minute than she had in a week.

"I was saving that." She curled her fingers into a fist and out again, trying to keep calm. He was right, she did need him. Not for any of the arrogant, sexist reasons he believed but really because she missed the company and felt herself going slowly insane without it.

"You'll just ave to get some more then, won't ya?" Merle walked over to the sofa and sank into the cushions, clutching the one beer Helena had managed to salvage from a nearby fraternity. He cracked open the top and it hissed loudly before he gulped it down greedily. He seemingly didn't care that he was missing a hand, he had found something more interesting. Someone to mess with. "Be a darlin and rub my feet?" He rested his legs on the coffee table, seemingly in no hurry to leave despite the three walkers congregating in the stairway a few stories below.

"How did you even get in here?" Helena hissed, ignoring his conceited comment and snatching the beer from his grasp, taking a sip herself. "I locked all the doors and windows." She frowned, deep in thought. "If you wanted my stuff you could have just left me unconscious. Why did you stay?"

"Seems like you've got a good thing goin here, sugar. Thought I might stay a while, a' least til my arm stops hurtin like a son of a bitch." 

"That might take a while." She said sharply, placing the beer on the coffee table and wincing when she took her weight off of her injured leg. She rubbed her thigh without thinking and saw Merle smirk.

"Howd'ya do that?" He asked, ignoring her tone and gesturing with the rapidly emptying beer can towards her thigh. "Ya don't seem the kinda girl to do dirty work, princess." Helena growled, growing impatient with his arrogance as he surveyed her with amusement. Merle leant back, hand behind his head as he reclined on the sofa. From below came the echoing sounds of the walkers as they struggled to climb the stairs that she had barricaded with furniture she had found in neighbouring apartments. 

"I was on a run this morning, if you must know. Tried to climb the fence in the courtyard and landed on my axe." Merle laughed, a noise that only served to annoy Helena who pulled herself to sit upon the kitchen table, staring at him expectantly. Her jacket lay abandoned on the floor where he had knocked her unconscious with a bottle of wine and she shivered with the sudden chill the evening brought with it. "I told you, now you have to tell me. It's only fair."

"Merle don't work like that, sugar." He grunted in response, wiping his hands on his stained white shirt and causing her nose to wrinkle with disgust. A sudden noise made them both freeze. It was the sound of smashing wood and small, desperate growls that got louder with every second that passed. 

"Oh shit." Was all that Helena could say. She locked eyes with Merle for a moment before turning on him and running, reaching out to grab the rucksack from the table, towards the window. She was fast, but he was faster, pulling her back as she tried to climb through the window with all of the supplies.

"Oh no you don't, princess." He grunted, dragging her to the floor and trying to take the rucksack from her hands. Meanwhile, the growls were growing ever closer and Helena was certain that she could already smell the rotting flesh as the walkers drew closer to the apartment. She rolled, reaching out and snatching the axe from where it lay abandoned on the floor. It was too late for her jacket, but she needed those supplies more than Merle. She kicked out, causing his legs to give way as she pulled the bag from the floor and leapt through the window and onto the metal staircase jutting from the outside of the building.

Landing harshly on her injured leg, Helena winced and swore loudly, thundering down the staircase and missing the last set all together, stumbling across the courtyard and hurrying out into the street beyond. She could just about hear Merle's shouts and the walker's hungry groans as she hobbled down the street as fast as her damaged thigh would allow. An alley way opened up ahead and she slipped inside, disappearing from sight with the rucksack thrown hastily over her shoulder.

It was too bad about Merle. Someone living made a nice change, but the man was an asshole. Helena laughed to herself, thinking about the arrogant man that had almost gotten her killed. She had escaped, she was alive, and she wasn't bitten. It had been a good day. With no plan of where to go, Helena continued to hurry through the shadows. Darkness was approaching and soon she wouldn't be able to see where she was going. She needed somewhere to stay for the night if she was going to escape the city to find somewhere that still had supplies. 

After what felt like hours of walking, night had fully descended and the city was plunged into a murky blackness. The shadows cast by the moon seemed to echo and Helena felt herself jumping at even the smallest of noises. The blood loss and fatigue had taken its toll on her tired, starved body and she felt every inch ache and beg for rest. She had to keep going, every building she passed she had already entered in the passing weeks and knew to be full of walkers. No where was safe anymore. 

Finally, a shape emerged from the darkness and as she drew closer Helena noticed it was a train cart left abandoned on the tracks leading out of the city. Axe in hand, she climbed the steps that led to the cabin and knocked on the window, waiting for any sign of movement to tell her whether it was occupied by the undead or not. Nothing happened. She knocked once more and heard that familiar growling that filled her with dread. This was her only option, she would have to go inside and assess how many were lurking inside.

Helena felt her heart in her throat as she turned the handle and stepped inside. The growling grew louder and she could smell the unmistakeable stench of rotting flesh. Grunting, the walker lunged for her and she swung her axe upwards, hitting it squarely on the top of its skull and causing it to fall to the floor. But it wasn't enough, the walker reached for her ankles as she tried to pull the axe from where it's was lodged in the soft bone of its skull. She became frantic as the walker crawled closer, mouth opening and closing as if it could already taste her supple skin.

"Fuck! Shit!" The axe was lodged deep inside the skull and she couldn't get it free. One pull caused her to lose balance and clatter to the floor, the axe still stuck in the walker which was crawling its way up her legs. Kicking at its face did nothing and it kept coming, jaws closing on her ankle but the thick leather managed to protect her from its bite. Just as she thought it was over, her terrified screams echoing in the night air, an arrow tore through the air and embedded into the zombie's skull, causing it to slump forwards onto her lap. 

Helena collapsed, panting, onto the floor of the carriage. She heard the door slam shut but was too exhausted to lift her head to see who had saved her. Breathless, she stared at the ceiling until a familiar face blocked her view.

"Told ya, princess. You need me." Merle smirked, reaching his arm out to help her to her feet but she was too weak to move. Instead, he wrapped her arm around his shoulder and dragged her to one of the benches on the far side of the carriage where she lay, motionless, waiting for her erratic heart to calm down. Her laboured breath filled the air as Merle sank onto the bench opposite her, picking her rucksack from the floor and placing it beside him. He wasn't going to take any chances this time. 

"I don't need you." She muttered, eyeing him suspiciously. It was after a lengthy silence that she decided she should at least try and make small talk. "I thought you were dead."

"It'll take more than a couple of sons o' bitches to kill me, sugartits." Even in her tired state, Helena found his arrogance excruciatingly painful. She pushed herself onto her elbow and looked at him. He sat, slouched, on the bench. His face and neck were sprayed with blood which was starting to dry and flake, and his muscular arms were covered in what could only be described as guts.

"Don't call me that." She growled and he chuckled, raising an eyebrow in her direction. He saw her rubbing her arms, as the thin vest did nothing for warmth in the chilled night air. 

"Cold, princess? Want a nice warm bed? Some blankets?" He mocked, dragging his feet onto the bench and surveying her with a smirk. Helena suddenly felt very judged. She tried to smooth down her defiant hair which had matted into a rough ponytail, and was aware of how tired and haggard her pale face must seem. 

"Are you this arrogant all the time, or is it just for me?" She asked, trying to get comfortable on the bench but the hard wooden planks dug into her back and made her feel old before her time. 

"Jus' for you, darlin." Helena was sure that he had winked, which made her skin crawl. No matter how much she detested his company, he was right. She needed him, in one way or another.


End file.
